Aside from feeling amazingly weighed down the last few weeks, I feel good today. I am wearing a frilly pink shirt that makes me feel young and feminine, which are things that I don't often feel. I also NEVER wear pink, but with the amount of compliments that I have received I think that my $5.99 Ross Dress for Less purchase was a win. It also makes me feel like I should be wearing a pair of jelly sandals (a high five for anyone who knows what I am talking about).
I am aware that most of my posts lately haven't been really writing, and that I can't really explain. My flirtation with poetry has had a long and checkered past. I have notebooks filled with mediocre, whiny, high school drivel that should never, ever, ever, ever, ever....ever see the light of day again, much less be posted on the Internet (unless it was to give someone a really hearty laugh, because that would be the only thing they are good for). I also am aware that the poetry posted on this self-indulgent blog is also mediocre and whiny but I guess that's probably just as good as my poetry is ever going to get.
Anywho.
Today while walking back from the mail room I saw a sweet older women with her grown daughter sitting in our Audiology waiting room. They sat quietly next to each other. The daughter reading from a TIME magazine and her mother just sitting, staring. The mother broke her gaze and reached down and began to rummage in the bottom, she pulled out two pieces of cellophane wrapped candy. She held it out to her daughter and asked if she "would you like a sweet?". That? That right there sent tears to sting my eyes and smile to my face. This tiny moment, the aging mother who sits here, with the help of her daughter, still needing to mother after all these years. It made me want to collapse on the floor in fits of sobs for the sweetness of it, it made me want to call my mom and tell her much how I love her, it made me miss my now passed grandmother, and for just a moment I could that mother, years younger, sitting with her little girl in a similar waiting room, daughter kicking her legs and fidgeting in her chair and that same mother reaching down, finding her purse, and offering that little girl "a sweet" to occupy her mouth and mind in the those slow moments before the doctor comes.
This post makes no sense, but I don't care.
Wednesday, July 21, 2010
Thursday, July 8, 2010
Haiku to you too.
OK. Um. These were all written in the span of about 10 minutes. On pink sticky notes none the less. I've never written Haiku's and I'm sure the structure isn't proper so bare (bear?) with me.
In the morning, now
my tea bag bleeds in my cup.
Murder of water.
Watch ticks by the time.
Stop it hand, stop it right now.
He never listens.
Music mumbles psst
to tell secrets to my heart.
I feel in the know.
Wink wink nudge nudge cough.
Are you listening to me?
Yeah that's what I thought.
Copy maintenance,
I call but they never come.
The black ink still smears.
I feel all grown up.
Then Disney makes me smile,
and I feel better.
Lemon Ginger tea
smells like Pinesol floor cleaner.
Ew, I just drank that.
My stapler sits.
I don't like the way she stares.
Stapler's a she...
In the morning, now
my tea bag bleeds in my cup.
Murder of water.
Watch ticks by the time.
Stop it hand, stop it right now.
He never listens.
Music mumbles psst
to tell secrets to my heart.
I feel in the know.
Wink wink nudge nudge cough.
Are you listening to me?
Yeah that's what I thought.
Copy maintenance,
I call but they never come.
The black ink still smears.
I feel all grown up.
Then Disney makes me smile,
and I feel better.
Lemon Ginger tea
smells like Pinesol floor cleaner.
Ew, I just drank that.
My stapler sits.
I don't like the way she stares.
Stapler's a she...
Friday, July 2, 2010
Wedding rough drafts....
Love is.
Love is unoriginal.
Love is all around.
Love is flowers, and song, and birds.
Love is sunsets, and moutains, and canyons.
If you could speak or write or hear or see love. Its been done before.
Love is paitent, love is kind. Yes.
Love also doesn't wake up on time, and leaves the keys on the counter.
Love doesn't do the laundry or change the diapers when you ask.
Love is screaming, yelling, crying, and scowling.
Love makes faces at you behind your back and drinks to much wine while out to dinner with your parents.
Love doesn't like the way you make meatload or how you fold your socks.
Love hates the way you tap on the steering wheel when your bored and the way you laugh when you're trying to impress people.
Love just is.
But you are love.
Love is a word, a thing, and action, a noun, verb, adverb, whatever.
But you are your love.
Your love may not be as deep as the ocean, but it could be as wide as the sky.
Your love may not flow like a spring, but it may renew like the sand on the shore.
Your love may not be blind, but it may convinently hard of hearing.
If there is a word about love it's be said. If there is a story about love its been told. Every metaphor, simile, poetic phrase, anicdote, musing, tidbit, and ryhme. Done, done, and done.
But no one is you.
You with the kind eyes and the loud voice.
You with the shy smile and the boistrus laugh.
In a thousand years, a million poets, could have complied their works and not come up with this.
Because nothing. No story. No anicdone. No song. Could have made love like this.
Love so childish and innocent.
Love so unexpected and untamed.
Love so puzzling and perfect.
Love so reckless and adventuring.
Love on its own is unoriginal and tired.
People make love new. People like you.
Love is unoriginal.
Love is all around.
Love is flowers, and song, and birds.
Love is sunsets, and moutains, and canyons.
If you could speak or write or hear or see love. Its been done before.
Love is paitent, love is kind. Yes.
Love also doesn't wake up on time, and leaves the keys on the counter.
Love doesn't do the laundry or change the diapers when you ask.
Love is screaming, yelling, crying, and scowling.
Love makes faces at you behind your back and drinks to much wine while out to dinner with your parents.
Love doesn't like the way you make meatload or how you fold your socks.
Love hates the way you tap on the steering wheel when your bored and the way you laugh when you're trying to impress people.
Love just is.
But you are love.
Love is a word, a thing, and action, a noun, verb, adverb, whatever.
But you are your love.
Your love may not be as deep as the ocean, but it could be as wide as the sky.
Your love may not flow like a spring, but it may renew like the sand on the shore.
Your love may not be blind, but it may convinently hard of hearing.
If there is a word about love it's be said. If there is a story about love its been told. Every metaphor, simile, poetic phrase, anicdote, musing, tidbit, and ryhme. Done, done, and done.
But no one is you.
You with the kind eyes and the loud voice.
You with the shy smile and the boistrus laugh.
In a thousand years, a million poets, could have complied their works and not come up with this.
Because nothing. No story. No anicdone. No song. Could have made love like this.
Love so childish and innocent.
Love so unexpected and untamed.
Love so puzzling and perfect.
Love so reckless and adventuring.
Love on its own is unoriginal and tired.
People make love new. People like you.
Blame the rain that it makes no sense.
I stood, staring. Hair in yarns around my face,
heat, and steam, a smile firmly planted.
Couldn't tell you why I smiled, day hardly begun,
only a glimpse, winking from the hours to come,
stress and mess, hustle and bustle.
And yet a smile.
There are things that happen in the shower.
Good release, melting stress, the splish
and splash of feet as the soap drains down
and down and down. Bangs and thuds, falling bottles,
stubbed toes, knots that won't let go,
lack of time. water. energy.who knows.
Sometimes I think great thoughts.
Mostly, not.
Mostly I think, of things that happened,
events to come, words I should have spoken,
bits of prose I should have writ down.
Not really great, just, there.
Sometimes its just enough to stand.
To squeeze shut my eyes, bow my head,
and wish for the water to wash it away.
What? I do not know. Who? Who knows.
But smiling in the shower helps. Sometimes.
Never. Mostly. But it can't hurt right?
heat, and steam, a smile firmly planted.
Couldn't tell you why I smiled, day hardly begun,
only a glimpse, winking from the hours to come,
stress and mess, hustle and bustle.
And yet a smile.
There are things that happen in the shower.
Good release, melting stress, the splish
and splash of feet as the soap drains down
and down and down. Bangs and thuds, falling bottles,
stubbed toes, knots that won't let go,
lack of time. water. energy.who knows.
Sometimes I think great thoughts.
Mostly, not.
Mostly I think, of things that happened,
events to come, words I should have spoken,
bits of prose I should have writ down.
Not really great, just, there.
Sometimes its just enough to stand.
To squeeze shut my eyes, bow my head,
and wish for the water to wash it away.
What? I do not know. Who? Who knows.
But smiling in the shower helps. Sometimes.
Never. Mostly. But it can't hurt right?
Thursday, June 10, 2010
Yup. This is a post about bread. You got a problem with that?
As some of you know (or maybe none of you (as you can see I don't know who even reads this)), food/cooking/baking is and was a big part of my life. Like most little tots I started with the basics, Campbell's soup and mac and cheese (In fact there is a story floating somewhere around our family tree about a furious four year old me (or maybe it was my sister...) that called parental units on a babysitter because she was trying to convince either me (or my sister) that you didn't need to add water to Campbell's soup) and from there, inched my way slowly into the world or real food one parent supervised vegetable chopping, pot stirring, ingredient pouring session at a time. Eventually we came to a point where, and I believe it was around the sophomore year, I began to plan and cook many of the meals that graced our family table. Now mind you, this little diatribe isn't relevant to the topic, ok maybe the food part, but the rest of it is really just what I think is interesting background that really none of you (if YOU even exist) would ever want or care to know. Anywho, this little background story provides the beginnings of a very important conclusion that I came to yesterday.
While munching on a slice of french baguette left over from the staff luncheon I came to the beautiful, and somewhat obvious realization, that bread is possibly the most whole, beautiful, and completely satisfying food ever to grace the human palette. Now, I can hear some of you anti-carb, gluten-free, superhero diet, raw foodists gasp and splutter over the lack of nutritional value, stomach clogging, blah, blah, blah... *snore*...I don't care. If those of us really took time to think about the bread we have eaten, good, bad, sweet, sourdough, or wonder, and try and remember what it tasted like, how we felt when we ate it, and what it meant to us at the time I think we could remember how multifaceted and satisfying a piece of bread is.
I mean, just the components of bread itself are simply beautiful. The rich, soft flours, the fragrant yeast, and all the glorious and unending accouterments that can be added to it. Bread it of the earth, simple and delicious, and in many ways bread is like people. And no, I am not going all Soilent Green on you trying to say that bread is people, or made from people, because that is, well its just gross, and creepy, and lets face it Soilent Green is not longer very relevant in terms of it's social commentary.
Sorry.
Back on track...
Bread is inherently like people. Flour is our heart and body, yeast is our blood, etc, etc. My real point is that this bread is creative and unending in its differences and constant in its similarities, just like human kind. There are sweet breads, savory breads, plain breads, breads with seeds, breads with nuts, bread with berries and fruit, bread with vegetables, the list goes on and on. I believe that the infinite combinations of ingredients you could make a different type of bread to individually represent each single person that lives on this earth (you could probably throw some animals in there too, but we don't want to push it).
I don't know why it was important to me, or why this conclusion decided to remain with me through my commute home, making dinner, working-out, sleeping, waking up....Oh. What were we talking about?
Oh right.
Bread.
It's delicious, it's easy, it's filling, it's versatile, it's nutritious, and you can't really ever go wrong with bread. Bread is awesome.
I think we should all go by a baguette and stop fighting.
That is it. Bread is the key to happiness. Bread is the key to world peace. Bread is the key to ending hunger and poverty. Bread is life.
Bread is the answer to all life's problems.
I am a genius and I think I should call the bank about a possible small business loan.
Or maybe I could just shut up and have a slice of bread.
Next time you are having a bad day, or a mediocre day, or heck, even a good day. Have a slice of bread and just see how it makes you feel.
Awesome, right?
yeah....I knew it.
While munching on a slice of french baguette left over from the staff luncheon I came to the beautiful, and somewhat obvious realization, that bread is possibly the most whole, beautiful, and completely satisfying food ever to grace the human palette. Now, I can hear some of you anti-carb, gluten-free, superhero diet, raw foodists gasp and splutter over the lack of nutritional value, stomach clogging, blah, blah, blah... *snore*...I don't care. If those of us really took time to think about the bread we have eaten, good, bad, sweet, sourdough, or wonder, and try and remember what it tasted like, how we felt when we ate it, and what it meant to us at the time I think we could remember how multifaceted and satisfying a piece of bread is.
I mean, just the components of bread itself are simply beautiful. The rich, soft flours, the fragrant yeast, and all the glorious and unending accouterments that can be added to it. Bread it of the earth, simple and delicious, and in many ways bread is like people. And no, I am not going all Soilent Green on you trying to say that bread is people, or made from people, because that is, well its just gross, and creepy, and lets face it Soilent Green is not longer very relevant in terms of it's social commentary.
Sorry.
Back on track...
Bread is inherently like people. Flour is our heart and body, yeast is our blood, etc, etc. My real point is that this bread is creative and unending in its differences and constant in its similarities, just like human kind. There are sweet breads, savory breads, plain breads, breads with seeds, breads with nuts, bread with berries and fruit, bread with vegetables, the list goes on and on. I believe that the infinite combinations of ingredients you could make a different type of bread to individually represent each single person that lives on this earth (you could probably throw some animals in there too, but we don't want to push it).
I don't know why it was important to me, or why this conclusion decided to remain with me through my commute home, making dinner, working-out, sleeping, waking up....Oh. What were we talking about?
Oh right.
Bread.
It's delicious, it's easy, it's filling, it's versatile, it's nutritious, and you can't really ever go wrong with bread. Bread is awesome.
I think we should all go by a baguette and stop fighting.
That is it. Bread is the key to happiness. Bread is the key to world peace. Bread is the key to ending hunger and poverty. Bread is life.
Bread is the answer to all life's problems.
I am a genius and I think I should call the bank about a possible small business loan.
Or maybe I could just shut up and have a slice of bread.
Next time you are having a bad day, or a mediocre day, or heck, even a good day. Have a slice of bread and just see how it makes you feel.
Awesome, right?
yeah....I knew it.
Wednesday, May 19, 2010
Zombies, Maltese dogs, and change.
Do you know what I wish?
I wish I was better. Not necessarily at something specific (although, that is kind of an automatic duh) I just wish I was better at being a human. Ok, maybe that came out wrong. No I am not an alien, or a cyborg, or a republican (I kid, kinda). I just kind of suck at being alive sometimes (kind of like zombies, but without all the brains).
I think we all have times when we just feel like we trudge from thing to thing, not really expecting, well, anything. I just wish I created a more vibrant tapestry for myself in life, or more change (hey, vibrant tapestry makes me sound fancier, and I need to use this college degree for something dammit). I mean, it's not like I want a snake to show up in my shower every 4th day or a gopher to bite my toes at the park when I take the dog out, because those thing would be, well, mostly horrifying and painful. I suppose my needs are based on the envy that I feel for others in my life. I know, I know, envy is a bad thing, we should be content with the happiness that we are given (blah, blah, bla....ZzZzZz. Oh, sorry I dozed off from all your judgemental, judginess). This may be true but, is it wrong to want a little of the spice back?
You know what would be a lot easier, if you could just by spice of life at the store, but not to one of those specialty stores that make you drive out in the the middle of nowhere strip mall land where you feel like you are suddenly going to be ambushed by a mess of dateline cameras accused of talking online with a 12 year old boy where the store employees give you weird looks because they just KNOW you're not from around here and its really hard to find what your looking for and your afraid to ask because of the suspicious employees and your a little creeped out by how sticky the floors are kind of places, because that would so NOT be worth it. You know what I'm saying though? Just walk into the grocery store and pick up a bottle of Spice of Life *Now made with 30% more sunshine and edible glitter!* with your necessary milk and apples or soy milk and frozen pizza or Rolaids and laxatives (You know, the usual).
So yeah. We should get on that. You know what? Since now all those wicked smart NASA people are going to all be out of jobs we should get them a grant to develop stuff like this. It is after all, science, right? Or maybe its voodoo or perhaps it would be the job of those America's Test Kitchen people. I'll do some research....
Anyway, I need some change, but like most Americans I fear change.
Oh wait. No I don't, well I do, but I don't mostly. But come on! Sometimes change is scary. Have you ever cut like 5 inches off your hair with a new stylist who half way through cutting your hair tells you that she just graduated from beauty school and you are her first customer. That, my friends, is pure fear. The fear that your need for a "new spring look" will wind up making you look like a half-rabid Maltese with a skin condition is enough to set you off of change for a good 5 years, along with giving you a startling fear or salon chairs and Maltese dogs.
What were we talking about?
I am so lost.
I wish I was better. Not necessarily at something specific (although, that is kind of an automatic duh) I just wish I was better at being a human. Ok, maybe that came out wrong. No I am not an alien, or a cyborg, or a republican (I kid, kinda). I just kind of suck at being alive sometimes (kind of like zombies, but without all the brains).
I think we all have times when we just feel like we trudge from thing to thing, not really expecting, well, anything. I just wish I created a more vibrant tapestry for myself in life, or more change (hey, vibrant tapestry makes me sound fancier, and I need to use this college degree for something dammit). I mean, it's not like I want a snake to show up in my shower every 4th day or a gopher to bite my toes at the park when I take the dog out, because those thing would be, well, mostly horrifying and painful. I suppose my needs are based on the envy that I feel for others in my life. I know, I know, envy is a bad thing, we should be content with the happiness that we are given (blah, blah, bla....ZzZzZz. Oh, sorry I dozed off from all your judgemental, judginess). This may be true but, is it wrong to want a little of the spice back?
You know what would be a lot easier, if you could just by spice of life at the store, but not to one of those specialty stores that make you drive out in the the middle of nowhere strip mall land where you feel like you are suddenly going to be ambushed by a mess of dateline cameras accused of talking online with a 12 year old boy where the store employees give you weird looks because they just KNOW you're not from around here and its really hard to find what your looking for and your afraid to ask because of the suspicious employees and your a little creeped out by how sticky the floors are kind of places, because that would so NOT be worth it. You know what I'm saying though? Just walk into the grocery store and pick up a bottle of Spice of Life *Now made with 30% more sunshine and edible glitter!* with your necessary milk and apples or soy milk and frozen pizza or Rolaids and laxatives (You know, the usual).
So yeah. We should get on that. You know what? Since now all those wicked smart NASA people are going to all be out of jobs we should get them a grant to develop stuff like this. It is after all, science, right? Or maybe its voodoo or perhaps it would be the job of those America's Test Kitchen people. I'll do some research....
Anyway, I need some change, but like most Americans I fear change.
Oh wait. No I don't, well I do, but I don't mostly. But come on! Sometimes change is scary. Have you ever cut like 5 inches off your hair with a new stylist who half way through cutting your hair tells you that she just graduated from beauty school and you are her first customer. That, my friends, is pure fear. The fear that your need for a "new spring look" will wind up making you look like a half-rabid Maltese with a skin condition is enough to set you off of change for a good 5 years, along with giving you a startling fear or salon chairs and Maltese dogs.
What were we talking about?
I am so lost.
Monday, May 17, 2010
What to do when hate is no longer a four letter word but rather an endless string of crazy ramblings, run on sentences, commas, and other nonsense.
Today I'm a little hateful. I know that hate is a strong word, but, on my honor, I swear I'm not hating people, or even actions really, just situations and things (and stuff and junk). For instance, I hate that this grogginess will not leave my head, no matter how positive I am about a good day, no matter how much healthy tea I drink, no matter how much I wish (hope, pray, do a mythical rain dance for, etc.) I was back in bed sleeping peacefully with my dog and husband (oops, I think I'm supposed to put the one I love more before the other, or maybe that's what I did (*wink*), just kidding....kinda). I am hateful of the stack of dishes that seems to follow me from home to work (staring at me with it's googly plate/cup/bowl eyes) and the stack of laundry that isn't far behind. I am hateful of the insecurity that plagues my morning routine, of knowing the strength that insecurity will gain when I arrive at my office filled with marathon running, rock climbing, eating lentils and kale everyday (sweet, thoughtful, encouraging) co-workers. Most of all, I am hateful of all the little things that seem insignificant that I would love to obliterate from my list, my ever growing (festering seems like a better word) list of to-dos, will-dos, don't dos, don't want to dos. 8 million, no, 800 million little things to hate, to loathe, to detest, to scorn, to stomp on, scream at, sneer at, pout at, kick, punch, and karate chop all ninja style with the furry of a thousand blazing little hateful dagger filled suns while yelling indiscriminate things posing as witty repartee...at.
See? It's a problem right? Its not just in my head, oh wait, yes it is, and THAT is the problem right? Its all in my head, which, biologically speaking, is nothing more than slimy, pinkish/whitish tinged coils shoved into my skull sending tiny electrical signals and releasing chemicals and hormones and other sciencey, fancy doing stuff, stuff. BUT to me (cause that what you really want to know right? oh... you don't? well...to bad) it is like a constant elementary school game of red rover when your 1st grade class is playing against the far bigger, far stronger 5th graders and you just keep sending over kid after kid after kid and one by one BAM! each of those kids is close lined, knocked to the ground, birds and stars adorning their vision unable to regain their reasoning behind participating in this ludicrous game (seriously people there is a reason why schools won't allow it to be played anymore, its brutal, I believe in my day there were broken bones and concussions involved), and that ladies and gentlemen is what it feels like to be a thought in my head. It's a pretty picture huh?
So maybe I should see a therapist (*scoff*), or maybe an exorcist (*giggle*), or maybe, just maybe I should buy a million dollars worth of chocolate pudding and fill an Olympic sized pool with it an swim around all day, wait, that wasn't relevant (or was it...). I don't know, maybe its the pessimist in me that daily beats up the optimist nerd and takes his lunch money(I'm thinking about buying the optimist a gym membership, he really needs to bulk up) or maybe its just the fact that I take things way to seriously, or maybe I just need to shut up. What I do know is that being a little hateful can ruin your day, even when its only 10am, and that my friends is no fun, because this day barely had a chance, I mean it is Monday and we all know that this guarantees an automatic day fail, but the hatefulness, that just makes it worse and I've got to find a way to fix that, or channel it, or...something. I'm open to suggestions.
As long as they don't involve snakes. Or tomatoes.
You have to draw the line somewhere.
(You might not realize this but I am actually kind of normal. I swear.)
Happy Monday!
See? It's a problem right? Its not just in my head, oh wait, yes it is, and THAT is the problem right? Its all in my head, which, biologically speaking, is nothing more than slimy, pinkish/whitish tinged coils shoved into my skull sending tiny electrical signals and releasing chemicals and hormones and other sciencey, fancy doing stuff, stuff. BUT to me (cause that what you really want to know right? oh... you don't? well...to bad) it is like a constant elementary school game of red rover when your 1st grade class is playing against the far bigger, far stronger 5th graders and you just keep sending over kid after kid after kid and one by one BAM! each of those kids is close lined, knocked to the ground, birds and stars adorning their vision unable to regain their reasoning behind participating in this ludicrous game (seriously people there is a reason why schools won't allow it to be played anymore, its brutal, I believe in my day there were broken bones and concussions involved), and that ladies and gentlemen is what it feels like to be a thought in my head. It's a pretty picture huh?
So maybe I should see a therapist (*scoff*), or maybe an exorcist (*giggle*), or maybe, just maybe I should buy a million dollars worth of chocolate pudding and fill an Olympic sized pool with it an swim around all day, wait, that wasn't relevant (or was it...). I don't know, maybe its the pessimist in me that daily beats up the optimist nerd and takes his lunch money(I'm thinking about buying the optimist a gym membership, he really needs to bulk up) or maybe its just the fact that I take things way to seriously, or maybe I just need to shut up. What I do know is that being a little hateful can ruin your day, even when its only 10am, and that my friends is no fun, because this day barely had a chance, I mean it is Monday and we all know that this guarantees an automatic day fail, but the hatefulness, that just makes it worse and I've got to find a way to fix that, or channel it, or...something. I'm open to suggestions.
As long as they don't involve snakes. Or tomatoes.
You have to draw the line somewhere.
(You might not realize this but I am actually kind of normal. I swear.)
Happy Monday!
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